


Would you change it if you could?

by luxuries



Series: Lux. Whumptober 2020 [9]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Blood and Injury, Boot Worship, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, The Author Regrets Nothing, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26970103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxuries/pseuds/luxuries
Summary: "Whatever you want." He confirms, knowing Slade just liked to hear him say it.or:Slade is hurting Damian. Dick will do anything, anything, to stop him.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: Lux. Whumptober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947232
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Would you change it if you could?

**Author's Note:**

> No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD “Take Me Instead” | “Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice  
> Content warning for violence, blood and the insinuation of future rape.

He's trying so hard to get up, but his arms just won't listen. They tremble at the slightest pressure, completely drained. But dick tries anyways. He has to.

In front of him is Damian, a busted lip and forehead cut oozing steadily. He looks out of it. Reaching for something, somewhere, far in the distance, eyes trained on Dick in something that hurts like abandonment, feels like betrayal. Arms spread uselessly above him, trails of sweat and veins bulging. 

"Dami..." Dick rasps, tasting blood as he bites his own cheek open. He _needs_ to get up. To save him. His robin. 

The boy, no, he's a man now- Damian would say - hums in response. Something guarded and intimate. Dick wishes he were anywhere else. Slade continues to cut into his robin, painting his back in blood as he carves the tail of the 'S'. The pin prick concentration of a tattoo artist; the shock of something inside of you, chiselling and sketching your body into whatever they desire. 

"I'll kill you." Dick seethes, getting onto his knees in a desperate burst of adrenaline. "I'll kill you!"

"That's the thing," Slade pauses in his procedure, lifting the viciously sharp scalpel from Damian's still form. "You won't." Dick lets the words wash over him, focusing instead on keeping Slade distracted. 

"I will." He starts crawling towards the bench, not letting the humiliation of his current position bother him. There were more important things on the line than his pride. The mercenary turns around, watches Dick's quivering form as he tries, he _tries_ to get to Damian.

"What's the rush, you'll get your turn." Slade chuckles, his teeth glinting in the unnatural surgical lighting. Dick doesn't stop. His suit drags across the white tiles, sweat and blood clinging onto him as he struggles forward. A keen eye trains on his struggling form, watches how he pants and curses as he fights against his own body.

"Please," He reaches the older mans feet, smells the ethanol and leather and blood. "Please stop." Slade looks down at him, a calculating expression on his face. That's never good. 

"What'll you do for me?" He lifts his right foot and tests Dick's dignity. The toe of his boot traces Dick's jawline, placing the scalpel on a small table beside him. _Good._ "I was rather looking forward to amputating his legs, bringing the brat down a step." He laughs at his own joke and Dick flinches at the cruelty. He wasn't surprised, he wasn't shocked. But Slade crossed a line no one dared cross. Nobody touched the Bat's robin. 

"Whatever you want." Dick claims through clenched teeth, nearly hissing. The steel-toed boot lingers at his mouth, pressing into his bottom lip. It displays his anger; the potential of his bite. Slade smirks and brings his foot back down, seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw.

"Whatever I want?" Dick hears Damian as he struggles to lift himself above him, no doubt injured heavily and delirious on blood loss. Wishes, silently, that the boy wasn't awake. Wouldn't witness Dick's powerlessness.

Dick was a fool. He thought- he really thought he could trust Slade. He claimed he held information, and Dick never refused the opportunity before. Things were different when he was Nightwing, apparently.

Damian wasn't supposed to be here. Dick should have known Damian would follow him wherever he went, the boy's deadly loyalty, his hubris. And now, they were both paying for it.

"Whatever you want." He confirms, knowing Slade just liked to hear him say it. 

"Would you kill for me? To save your precious robin?" 

Dick doesn't scream. Just barely. It lodges at his throat, makes his voice crack in a way only Slade really manages. Of course he'd want the impossible, he'd want and witness and then never let him go. Make him into what Bruce always feared he could be.

"Not that-" He stammers, because he knows he can't. He just can't- "Anything but that-"

Slade grabs the bloody scalpel in response.

"No-" He reaches up, in a feeble attempt to stop him. Clinging onto his leg like that would actually stop him. Fingers digging into his calf desperately, trying to convey his urgency. Slade shakes him off easily, no longer looking at Dick. He panics.

He doesn't want to. He doesn't.

But he does- he remembers the training, the white tissue shaped in an 'S' still on his chest, the lingering looks as he undresses, the strange/dangerous obsession they have with each other. He remembers, darkly, how the man liked to see him hurt. Liked to watch him suffer and then patch him up right after. Created a pattern of pain and then comfort, made Dick cling onto him after being torn apart.

He kisses Slade's boot.

"Slade," He mumbles at the cold feeling of steel against his lips. "Anything, Slade,"

That makes the man pause. And laugh. It's cruel, it's what he expected. He shrinks into himself nonetheless.

"You see that, Damian? Look at him." Slade grabs Damian's short hair, dragging him up to make eye contact- horrid eye contact, with Dick. He's back from wherever he went, the painful awareness locked deep in his pupils, in the frown of his brows. The twitch of his lip when his back shifts and he feels the old and new blood crackle against his skin. It's both reassuring and humiliating.

"Hey, little D, you okay?" Dick tries to ignore the boots in front of him, the shiny clean mark highlighting his degradation. Tries to focus on what matters. Slade scoffs and lets the boy's head drop. Damian slumps limply, now directly facing Dick. His eyes are on fire- perhaps more enraged than Dick's. Robin doesn't respond to his question.

Slade switches the narrative over to Dick, grabbing his arm and lifting him to a counter. Dick grits his teeth as his elbow dislocates. Grits his teeth as the man gets unbearably close, as he uses the scalpel to cut open his suit. Grits his teeth as his chest is exposed, the cool air and hot breathes oppressive. This is fine. This is okay.

_Anything for Damian._

**Author's Note:**

> title is from vegas lights by panic at the disco lol. it's forever a bop.


End file.
